


One day we will fly together

by SummerDaze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerDaze/pseuds/SummerDaze
Summary: Four times Sansa gets jealous and one time Sandor gets jealous.





	1. 1.

Sansa caught where his gaze was directed, the clear appreciation in his grey eyes.

She frowned.

As much as she wanted to stamp her feet and pull her hair out even Sansa could not deny Arianne's beauty. But what concerned her most was that Arianne was the opposite of Sansa.

Where Arianne was golden coffee Sansa was cream. Short glossy raven tresses to her own long silken fire. Glittering black eyes to Sansa's deep sapphire.

Her frown deepened.

Whilst being Alayne had allowed Sansa to become bolder and embrace part of the wolf in her she was still a lady whereas Arianne was bold, brave, outspoken and not afraid to do just as she pleased with no regard for the whispers of others.

Before she realised how it had happened she found herself next to Sandor, arms folded across her chest.

'You like to look upon her.' It was not a question, they both knew it.

Sandor's mouth twitched, his hand tightening upon his sword before he answered. If Sansa was asked she would have said it was in irritation.

'Aye, girl. There's not a man here who does not'

'You have heard the rumours of her. She beds men and women alike using them only for her pleasure.'

He turned his head to her before answering. 'It is rare to come upon a woman who knows what she wants and how to get it.'

Sansa's eyes flashed as she suppressed her rage. She wanted to scream but it would not be becoming of the lady of Winterfell.

Arianne would scream, the part of her mind that used to belong to Alayne told her. She would even stamp her feet too, if she wanted.

His twisted lips twitched again as he smirked, but again she interpreted irritation.

Barely containing her fury, Sansa bit her cheeks inside her mouth. 'Mayhaps you shall be sat together at tonight's meal.'

With that she turned on her heel and strode off, her red hair blowing in the wind behind her. Sandor thought it reminiscent of a blazing sunset as he struggled to tear his eyes away from it.

He chuckled to himself. There was no denying he had been caught watching the Dornish princess and the way her lithe body moved as she trained with her throwing stars, but the little bird's poorly contained jealousy had amused him.

True to her word, later that night when they sat down to eat Sandor found himself up on the dais of Winterfell's newly rebuild great hall with the Dornish princess to his right and Sansa sat opposite four seats down.

Sandor grunted, his eyes flashing in anger to Sansa who smiled back and nodded in encouragement. He had no intention of conversing with the dark haired princess and instead took a large swig of the arbor gold in his cup.

Throughout the meal he did, begrudgingly, exchange a few words with the dark princess and couldn't help but respect her for the way she looked upon him as if his scars were not there and spoke without fear of incurring his notorious wrath. At times she even teased and cajoled him. When the final plate was taken from the table Sandor felt the girl's fingers run down his arm and shot a sharp glance her way. It did not deter her as she looked up at him with her sparkling dark eyes which clearly showed the question her lips did not have to ask.

It was then that he caught Sansa's eye. Frozen in position as she eyed the hand and on his arm, her eyes were hard and cold, unlike he had seen them in many moons.

Sansa graciously excused herself and was across the hall and out of the door before Sandor could react.

He felt the hand move from his arm.

'Ah, I fear you have other...matters which occupy your attention.' Arianne stated knowingly, with a kind smile. 'When Sansa told me you had expressed interest in supping with me tonight I had found it strange. Observing the two of you together your devotion to each other is clear, but Sansa assured me the bond you share was only due to what you had both been through during the retaking of Winterfell and the hard winter months that followed. And of course I was very interested in getting more intimate with the infamous Hound. I have heard many a story in Kings Landing of your...generosity when it comes to pleasure. But now I see, the dog is loyal only to his master.' She signed dramatically 'Things are so much less complex in Dorne. We three would all share a bed and share each other's pleasure.'

Unknowing what to say Sandor remained silent and stormy feeling his rage grow.

'Go...attend your lady. I fear she may have need of you.' Arianne dismissively waved her hand in the direction Sansa had fled.

Sandor was across the hall in a few huge strides. Almost ripping the door from its hinges as he opened it Sandor growled at the guards. 'Where did she go?'

'The library, my Lord.'

The anger grew. The library had not yet been touched and still had holes and deep sections of wall missing. It was unsafe, unguarded and icy cold, entirely unfit for her in the blue silk and lace dress she was wearing.

Wrenching open the door Sandor did not even wait until he was through the doorway before he began bellowing. 'What is the meaning of this?'

Sansa dropped her book in surprise at the interruption of the peaceful silence, standing to observe his presence. 'My lord, you should be enjoying the feast. Although the food has finished there is plenty of wine and music and dancing.'

He heard the door swing shut behind him as he cross the room to stand before her, his fingers below her jaw, gently tilting her head up to meet his eyes. He didn't remember when the need to force her to look at him had ceased and she had done so of her own volition. The habit had remained, though all these years.

Ignoring her speech he repeated his question, quieter, more calm. More dangerous.

'The meaning, my Lord? I simply needed some quiet for a few moments, away from all the people...my banner men. They wish to see me married to their heirs-'

He interrupted her. He knew this, it had been the same way since her return two years ago. She had managed to avoid the subject and decision making all that time, there was no reason why it should suddenly trouble her now.

'Seating me next to Arianne.'

Her brows knit. 'My Lord, we discussed it earlier today...I...'

She trailed off as she noticed they were so close she could feel his warm breath across her face.

'I do not want her.'

Her chest heaved with her breathing. They both felt it.

'My apologies...I just thought...I thought I might help you find a match.'

'I do not want anyone.' His voice was sharp, rough and deep and dangerous. It made her shiver. His eyes were deep and intense and yet she couldn't detect what he really wished to say.

'Not even me?' Sansa was horrified her thoughts had slipped out. She reddened and cursed, blaming Alayne, blaming Peter for making her be Alayne. Blaming the hound for not rescuing her. 'My Lord I am sorry, I did not mean to...it just slipped out, but please, let's forget it. Let's get back to the dancing.'

His hand travelled from her chin to her hair, wrapping a lock around his fingers, marvelling at the softness, the shimmering colour in the candle light of the room.

She turned pink as she realised she was practically panting, her breathing was so deep. So close to him that their toes touched.

'I am not worthy of you Sansa. I never will be.' His voice was thick with emotion and she though his eyes looked sad, but she couldn't be sure.

She held his gaze, searching those steel eyes. She decided he was not ready to hear it. Not yet. She raised a hand to his scarred cheek and held it there, smiling sadly at him. 'One day,' she promised. 'And until that day I reserve the right to be jealous of every woman that you speak to or look upon. Come now, we should get back to the guests.'

She dropped her arm and his gaze, not quite dropping the spell he held her under.

Sandor smirked. 'I'd be careful around those Dornish guests, little bird. One of them invited you and me both into their bed tonight.'


	2. Chapter 2

'My Lord,' her voice rang crisp and clear across the training yard, sharp enough to cut glass.

She was behind him. He did not turn to face her yet cocked his head slightly in acknowledgement. His lips twitched, not that she could see from her position, for he recognised that tone.

His strong arms remained around the wildling woman, speaking close to her ear. 'That's it. Pull back. Further. Further still. How does this feel? Make note of how your body feels, where the tension is. Hold it for another second.'

He felt her arms tremble slightly.

'A second longer'

He stepped back, away from her body, allowing her to hold the bow and arrow alone. Louder, his voice called out along the line of women before him.

'On three loose your arrows. One. Two. Three'

The plink of bow strings tightening and the whoosh as the arrows sailed through the air satisfied Sandor immensely. In just a few short weeks he had taught these women the skill of archery, building up their strength so all of them could not only hold the bow correctly but hold long enough to aim and loose most accurately.

Sandor surveyed the final positions of the arrows in the straw men they had set up. He nodded to himself as much as anyone else. 'Good. And again.'

He turned on his heel, finally, to come face to face with Sansa. 'My Lady?' He bowed very slightly. 'Have you come to watch the women of the castle train?'

'No.' Sansa replied shortly. 'I had not noticed you to be so hands on with the boy's training my lord. You show such...dedication...to your role.' She made it clear dedication was not what she really felt of his approach to training the women of the castle. 

Sandor looked at her levelly. 'The role you asked me to take on, Sansa? The training you encouraged the ladies of your castle - maids and staff and wildlings alike - to have?'

Sansa pouted. 'Yes.' She continued to search his eyes. 'It does not mean I have to like it.'

'No,' he agreed 'it does not. Mayhaps though, my lady, you need not make the women aware of quite how much you dislike them training, for I fear the attendance would drop for want of avoiding displeasing the lady of Winterfell.'

'That is not...' Sansa sighed. 'That is not what I mean and you well know it. I just wish that I was more like a wildling when I was younger. I was always so scared of everything, afraid to even look you in the face...you, Sandor...yet the wildlings...I just wish I could have seen you then as I know you now.'

'No use wasting wishes on the past. You were right to be afraid. I was not then who I am now. I would not have deserved your respect. I question whether I do now.'

He straightened. 'The women have made good progress, it would be good for them to see how proud it makes their Lady.'

Sansa nodded. Back to duty. Always back to her duty. 'But first, I came here to speak with you Sandor. I have need of your counsel. When you are finished here will you join me in my solar?'

Sandor nodded once. He held his arm out for her to take. Although neither would say aloud to the other, they both relished the short periods of time they got to be close like this. The warmth Sansa felt from his body made her feel safe and protected, his familiar leather and horse and Sandor smell so comforting. And for Sandor the presence of the little bird always made him hyper aware - he told himself it was because when she was around he was her guard and so he was constantly alert for danger and threats - but that didn't quite account for how the imprint of her fingers on his arm caused a curious tingling sensation, or the way his heart swelled when she gave his forearm a squeeze.

'My ladies!' Sansa exclaimed as they neared the training girls, clasping her hands together below her breast. Back to the Lady of Winterfell, the Protector of the North now, not Sansa the melancholy or Sansa the selfish as she had come to think of herself.

Sansa admired how fierce they looked. How Nothern. Arya would be pleased, she thought to herself, surveying the wild masses of hair blowing in the wind, whipping around their faces and into the air, the weaponry they held so authoritatively. She smiled her first genuine smile of the morning. Ned would be proud. 

'My ladies you look so Northern. My master at arms has been keeping me updated with your progress and I just had to see for myself. I could not be prouder to see what strong, capable women we have here at Winterfell. I know my late Lord Father, Eddard Stark, would have encouraged you to train and know how to defend yourself and your families. He was always encouraging me to pick up a wooden training sword but I must confess I was never any good; it was my sister Arya who bested our brothers. Now please, do not let me interrupt you, I only wished for you to know quite how impressed I am with you all.'

She smiled to each woman in turn, even the pretty young wildling Sandor had his arms around.

'Show the Lady Sansa what you have learnt' Sandor barked at the women and led Sansa a safe distance away where they could both observe without fear of a stray arrow causing harm. The silence was broken only by Sandor barking orders, telling the women to raise their elbows higher, hold more tension in their upper arms.

Sansa had not yet let go of Sandor's forearm. She was smiling to herself and it unnerved Sandor.

'Out with it.'

When she turned to him her eyes were sparkling. She looked more alive than Sandor had seen for a while. Sansa intently watched his expression as she spoke her words. 'She has red hair.'

Sandor's lip twitched. 'Who?' 

They both knew who.

'The one you had your arms around. The wildling. She is pretty and young and has flaming red hair, though a duller red than mine. I could not see before, for you blocked her from my view. But she has red hair. Like me.'

Sandor glanced up, as if noticing for the first time. 'Aye.' He speaks slowly. 'And what of it?'

Her eyes danced as they met his. 'Do you like red heads Sandor?'

He swallowed and set his jaw, looking out over his charges. 'Elbow higher Maege!' He barked.

'Might be I do, Sansa. But there are some things a man should only admire from afar. The wildlings say those with red hair have been touched by fire, that it is lucky. But I know more than most that once a man touches fire he can't walk away. Fire consumes you and a man like me has no right being consumed by fire.'

With that he walked off, leaving Sansa speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear this is where it all starts to go downhill...

Sansa was on her way to the kitchens to check provisions for the evening meal. It was coming on for Spring now but rations were still in short supply and quietly Sansa was anxious that the villagers were looking more and more gaunt each time she rode out to the winters town.

The day was sunny, which made Sansa smile and eased her worry somewhat. Once the white Raven arrived signalling the start of spring time the lands could start to grow crops and glass could be shipped in from across the narrow sea to build more glass gardens.

Before entering into the kitchens Sansa came across a fat cat sprawled out in a beam of sunlight. 'Oh how precious' she whispered, crouching down to bury her fingers in the cats soft fur and scratch it's chin. Still fawning over the cat and its swollen belly Sansa became aware of chattering in the kitchens. Although delighted to have escaped Petyr, Sansa did find that she missed her friends Myranda and Mia, and the afternoon gossip sessions they would indulge in. It was this nostalgia that caused Sansa to stay out of sight, hidden with the cat, and listen in to some of the more salacious goings on in Winterfell.

'Oh aye, she says he's all man alright, all man indeed!' Laughed one of the cooks,  'says she couldn't sit straight for days afterward!'

Someone screeched with laughter and another voice spoke but it was much softer and Sansa couldn't work out what was said.

'Aye, me too. I thought 'e only had eyes for her, always following 'er round like a lost puppy - once a dog always a dog they say - but it seems even a dog has needs. Mind, they 'ave a resemblance with that flaming hair.' There were murmurs of agreement and Sansa bit the insides of her cheeks, hard, as it was confirmed to her whom the subject of the gossip was.

'Next time the dog needs exercising I have half a mind to offer m'self up judging by the noise coming from that stable of an evening. Right before the meal too - how she can do that and then go straight to serving plates I'll never know - I just hope she washes 'er hands!'

More cackling.

'Have you seen 'im ride that great black horse? Huge thing it is - and not the only huge thing that nestles between 'is legs either! Enough to make a girl blush!'

Flushed red from the gossip even more explicit that Mia had giggled over, Sansa rose from the floor, her back ramrod straight, and silently made her way into the kitchens.

Announcing her presence by clearing her throat, the washer women and cooks suddenly became quiet and lowered their eyes to the ground, curtseying.

'Oh my Lady, we 'ad no idea you were there. Please, you must excuse our gossip. Such young, high born ears weren't made to hear such tales.' Cook tried to apologise.

Sansa fixed her with an icy gaze, folding her hand together over her abdomen so that her dragged sleeves grazed the floor, a stance that always reminded her of Cersei. Steeling herself, Sansa schooled her features perfectly, just as Petyr had taught her, preparing herself for what she knew the answer to be.

'Pray tell, Cook, of whom were you gossiping?'

There was an uncomfortable shift throughout the room and washer women and maids once again lowered their eyes, not wishing to meet Sansa's cold glare.

'My lady,' Cook began, 'my lady, is it really so important that you know who? Know only that we're all so sorry that you overheard such coarse language. Ain't that right?'

Cook looked around and the other women nodded, still shifting from one foot to the other.

'Cook.' Sansa was sharp and clear, every inch the Stark of Winterfell, reminding even herself of the tone her mother used to use with disobedient staff 'Am I not the Lady of Winterfell?'

'Of course, my Lady Sansa, and we're all so pleased to have Lord Edd-'

'And as the Lady of Winterfell, when I ask of you a question do you not needs answer it?'

'Yes my Lady, of course. My apologies. We-we were speaking of your master at arms. The Hound.'

Sansa was glad she had prepared herself. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach by Meryn Trant, all her breath at once rushing out of here.

'And?' She pressed.

'My lady?' Cook at the least did appear confused.

'These acts you spoke of the Hound committing, I assume he could not possibly have done them alone. Whom is the lady who meets him for these secret trysts in the stables?'

'Kalsa, my lady. Do you wish me to -'

'No. Do not speak of this with anyone else. Any of you.'

'Very well.' The cook curtseyed once more and turned back to the sink to scrub the potatoes.

With all thoughts of stores and rations long forgotten, Sansa scooped up the cat and returned to her rooms. Sinking down into her day bed and laying the cat across her chest Sansa rhythmically stroked the cat, the repetition and soft fur soothing herself as much as the feline.

She sighed. What was she to do? The were both adults, both free to do as they wished. Certainly there had been more scandalous gossip than two unattached people coupling on a haystack. And still Sansa felt empty. She didn't know if it made her feel worse of better that the wildling Kelsa was the red head she had spied Sandor with nigh on a year ago in the training yard. The pretty wildling with the red hair who had looked so similar to Sansa. The kitchen staff agreed with her on that.

Tickling the cat's chin Sansa thought on her options. She could send the wildling away, off to another castle or keep. She could have Sandor Clegane punished for bringing disrepute on her household staff. But would she really ruin the small happiness two people had found in each other, in the harsh midst of a cold, Northern winter?

For over a week she thought on her options. Sandor had known there was something she was keeping from him. She avoided him where possible and kept to her rooms for much of the day rather than walking the castle as she usually would. She was melancholy and she drank too much arbour gold with her meals.

He had asked her what was on her mind, implored her to share her worries so he could help, but what could she say? She was jealous and heart sick and sad and so full of rage all at once. He'd likely laugh at her and call her a silly little bird for being so dramatic for not getting what she wanted.

After a while he stopped asking. He was not one to nag. The past had shown him that when she was ready she would share with him her worries.

It was nine days after Sansa had overheard the gossip in the kitchen than Sandor had enough. As he escorted her back to her rooms to retire for the evening he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a small side room. It was cold and lit only by the one sconce Sandor held as they entered. Not two weeks ago this would have her heart racing with anticipation but now she only felt it shatter a bit more, for she knew she was not the one he wanted to be pulling into darkened rooms for impassioned kisses.

'Sandor, what is the meaning of this?' Even her voice was monotonous, without emotion or expression.

He gazed at her, jaw set and twitching.

When he failed to speak she moved to go past him, through the door and on to her rooms. She missed Jonquil, the cat she had found. 'Sandor I really must get to my rooms, Jonquil is like to give birth any moment now and I do not wish to miss it.'

A puzzled expression crossed his face 'The fuck is Jonquil?'

'My cat.'

'Your cat?'

'Yes, my cat.'

'And what do you know of birthing kittens?'

'About the same as you I expect, now please Sandor, let us go now.'

'No until you tell me what the matter is. And why you've suddenly got yourself a cat.'

'I really don't think why I got Jonquil is of importance Sandor.'

'I disagree.'

'It seems we are at an impasse.'

'Don't use your flowery words with me girl. Now tell me, are you with child?'

Sansa was so stunned she could not speak. Sandor took her silence as confirmation.

'Who is the fool that got you with child Sansa? I will pay him a visit and use my sword to fuck him myself.' Through the dark Sansa could see the rage contorting his features. For a moment he looked like the Hound of Kings Landing rather than Sandor Clegane, Winterfell's Master of Arms.

'You have no need of raping anyone with your sword.' Her face scrunched up as she repeated the threat he'd made. 'I am not with child and I can't think whatever made you believe so. My gowns are not tighter, I have not put on weight.'

The relief that flooded his face was visible and palpable in the air, even through the dim light. 'You have not been yourself these past weeks.' Was all he offered as an explanation for his conclusion.

'No, you're right I have not. But it is not because I am with child, I had some bad news is all. And I have been tending Jonquil.'

'What bad news?'

'Hm? Honestly Sandor it does not matter, now please let us continue on to my rooms and we can carry on this discussion along the way.' Sansa hoped it would be easier to distract him than when it was just the two of them alone in a dark room.

Sandor held open the door for her and she exited, coming face to face with Kalsa, the red headed wildling. Sansa smiled vaguely as she passed and accepted the girls wish of good evenings.

Sandor just nodded, his expression blank and unreadable but Kalsa blushed and smiled more widely than she had for Sansa.

After they had passed Sansa spoke. 'She likes you. She blushed when you looked at her.'

'Hm?' It was now Sandor's time to be vague and hope for a distraction.

At least he had not out righted lied, Sansa thought to herself. But then, he wouldn't.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, stopping outside the heavy oak door that marked the entrance to Sansa's private rooms.

'Are you sure all is well Sansa? You do not seem yourself.' His eyes showed genuine concern for her as they danced across her face.

Unbidden, his hand reached up and smoothed a strand of hair off of her forehead. His warm fingers lingered, stroking along her cheekbone and neither of them could remember the last time he had touched her like this.

Her lips parted. There was so much she wanted to say and so much she couldn't say. Instead she smiled and leaned her cheek into his hand.

'Goodnight, Sandor.' She whispered, before wrenching herself away and slipping behind the door.

He did not walk away for a while. She knew because she did not either. She leaned herself against the closed door and imagined him doing the same on the opposite side. Only after she heard his footsteps retreat did she go to the box she had made for Jonquil, lined with furs and blankets.

'Still no kittens for me I see Jonquil.'

Sansa sent her maid away and got herself dresses for bed. She held her hand in the spot Sandor had touched on her cheek before falling into an empty, dreamless sleep.

The next day she knew what had to be done. She summoned her maid and requested that she fetch Kalsa and bring her to the solar.

Sansa made sure she was dressed every inch the Lady of Winterfell. She could not have others gossiping of the reasonings behind Kalsa's swift departure.

When Kalsa arrived Sansa offered her a glass of chilled arbor gold, which she accepted with a smile. Kalsa was older than Sansa had thought, now that they were face to face. Certainly closer to Sandor's age than Sansa's. For a moment she wavered - was this the right decision? Yes. It had to be.

'Kalsa, I shall cut straight to my reasons for inviting you here today.' Sansa smiled rather sadly and Kalsa knew the meeting would not end favourably for her. 'Kalsa, there is gossip all over the castle. Everyone knows of your afternoon...meetings...with the master at arms. It cannot continue anymore.'

Kalsa, wildling that she, was did not even have the grace to look embarrassed. 'I understand, my Lady. We shall be more discrete.'

Sansa's facade twitched, but the girl was not to know of her feelings for her own master at arms.

'No, Kalsa. I'm afraid you do not understand. I have arranged for you to go to Karhold and serve in the household staff. I cannot have whispers of scandal permeating the halls of Winterfell. This is a noble and ancient bloodline and the seat of the Warden of the North. I cannot and will not have my home and my reputation ruined by whispers and gossip. Do you understand?'

The girl now was looking shocked. 'Yes, my lady.'

'Good. My maids have packed your rooms and will escort you to the gate where a horse and escort are waiting. I understand this seems unfair, it is always the woman that gets the most severe punishment in the circumstances such as these, but I assure you Sandor Clegane will be spoken with too. I will offer him the opportunity join you at Karhold. Of course I cannot offer him a position equal to that of his position here, but I'm sure the Karstarks could make good use of his strength and pay him fairly for it.'

'Of course, my lady. I shall...I shall be on my way then.'

Sansa rose. 'I thank you for making this as easy and straightforward as needs be. Good luck, Kalsa.'

Sansa exited the solar by the entrance into her bedrooms, leaving Kalsa with two maids and a guard to escort her away.

Sansa did not feel guilty, not about sending Kalsa away. She felt guilty for the weight she felt lifted from her, now that the decision was made. She picked up her sewing, and humming to herself, began to stitch another blanket for Jonquil and her kittens.

The afternoon had come round. The sun was starting to wane and Sansa lifted her skirts and she walked across the great keep to the stables.

Without saying a word she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

'There you are!' Came the familiar rasp from inside Stranger's stall. 'I had started to think you bored of me.'

Sansa said nothing until Sandor came out of the stable to see why he had not got the reply he was expecting.

'Sansa!' He was surprised. It was not often you could surprise Sandor Clegane. 'Sorry, Lady Stark,' he corrected himself. She had never insisted he call her that. 'I thought you were someone else. What is it?'

Sansa's express was blank, so like it had been all those years ago when he had taken her from Littlefinger. Sandor's concern spiked. 'Sansa, tell me what is wrong. It's not like you to be in the stables if you can help it.'

'I am sorry, Sandor. I didn't have another choice. Everyone was gossiping. Everyone. I cannot have Winterfell filled with such...explicit gossip.'

It took Sandor a moment to catch on. 'Oh.'

He took a seat on an empty palette. He, at least, looked embarrassed.

'Sansa I am sorry. I never meant for you to find out. I know how much value you Starks place on honour.' Then another 'Oh.'

He's worked it out, Sansa thought.

'This is the cause of the moods.'

'You once told me that a man can't just touch fire and walk away, he is consumed by it. If you are to be consumed by fire, why can it not be mine?'


	4. Chapter 4

She looked almost unreal, like one of those children of the forest the Northerners loved so much to chirp on about. She was facing away from him, kneeling before the tall heart tree - the only thing left untouched from the Bastard of Bolton's reign over her home.

The sun was low in the sky, a pale yellow he hadn't seen in all the years he'd lived in Kings Landing. It cast a golden yellow glow across everything it touched and gave a dream like quality to the forest all around him; the yellow rays beaming in between branches of trees, illuminating some greenery in vivid detail whilst other patches were deep green and shadowy, but still bathed in that mysterious golden light. Sandor could imagine himself as a young boy, charging around with wooden sword in hand, chasing a rabbit or bird and being led into this very patch of land. How magical and adventurous it would all have seemed. How very different to the childhood he'd had.

Sandor didn't ponder on the past. How could he when that very sunlight that was causing him to reminisce was casting the soft golden glow in her hair, turning it a brilliant amber colour and giving the illusion of a halo around her. At her worst Sansa could steal a man's breath away with her beauty but sitting here in her Northern woods, in front of her Northern tree gods, with her hair aglow and her profile so delicate and fragile she had never looked more vulnerable. She had never looked stronger.

She was so beautiful it made his heart ache.

Here in Winterfell she was at home, he could understand it now, in this moment. Her desperation to reclaim Winterfell as her family seat had not been because she saw herself as the rightful Lady of Winterfell nor to obtain the position she was born into. This is where she belonged. The forest, the heart tree, even Winterfell itself, they all seemed an extension of her somehow.

He watched her. For everything they could be together, yet never would be, his heart broke. The steely expression remained on his face and his solid stance did not waver - an onlooker would only notice his inner turmoil by the fingers he wrapped tighter around his sword pommel and the jaw that clenched more frequently than usual. 

His heart broke, but he was content. Initially, he'd sought her out for his own redemption. He'd committed a lot of terrors in his time, no amount of grave digging could atone for that. Elder Brother hadn't necessarily agreed; had believed that Sandor had little choice - he followed orders, as had been the expectation of him. But Sandor knew that he had never been ordered to feel so much joy in taking a man's life. So he'd dug. He dug graves and he buried those who washed up on the shores and he woke up the next day and done the same, all the while hoping he would never have fish out a pale skin corpse with flaming red hair because truthfully, he hadn't expected her to survive long in Kings Landing. Sansa had been just a scared little girl who trusted too easily and lied too badly and Joffrey's cruelty had known no bounds. 

Now, he couldn't recall whose idea it was to seek out Sansa Stark. In the end both Sandor and Elder Brother agreed, so it mattered little now who originally thought it up. Digging graves could only allow him to repent so far. Sandor wanted to seek Sansa out and offer his life for her, to be her sworn shield or to face the justice she served him, he did not know which it would be, but to put his fate in the hands of one he had treated so badly, to face life in service to her felt somehow more real, more than digging graves ever would.

He didn't know when it had changed, when it had become so pleasurable to be around her so often. Had it ever not been? He did not know, could not remember. All he knew is that he no longer felt he was serving life as a repentant. Would Elder Brother be pleased? Or disappointed that he'd left the path of faith so soon?

As though she could feel his eyes on her face, studying and imprinting into his mind every detail, Sansa's eyes snapped open and she smiled serenely at him. Those blue eyes that could almost have him agreeing to almost any request were focused solely on him as she rose.

'What do you pray for, little bird?' Sansa visited the Godswood at least once a day and Sandor often wondered how she could possibly have so much to pray for.

Sansa's smile widened. 'I pray for my family; that they are safe and happy and together, wherever they are. I pray for the North, that there is enough food, that winter stays away for another year or so. And I pray for me; that my banner men will stop pestering me to wed their heirs.'

Sansa laughed but Sandor did not.

'I jest, do not be so serious, Sandor. At most I spent sparse minutes praying for myself and most of that is praying for the wisdom and strength to make the right decisions for the people of the North.' Sansa had interpreted his silence as disapproval of her frivolity, for making light of her prayers. She never truly knew how devout he had become during his time on the Quiet Isle. She could not picture Sandor as a religious man, yet something in him had changed in the years they had been apart and Sansa attributed this to the time spent on the Quiet Isle, reluctant as Sandor was to tell her about his experiences there. 

Sansa started to make her way leisurely through the woods and grass, enjoying the way the sun, so low in the sky it cast the yellow glow she remembered of her childhood, illuminating the beauty of the nature around her.

'You know there is no need for you to marry. Not yet, not until you find someone you wish to make heirs with. There is no danger that you are seen as weak and easy to defeat. You have a strong guard here. You have years worth of provision. You have the backing of the entire North, the Wall and the Wildlings alike. You have me.'

Sandor did not like how gruff his voice sounded, especially towards the end of his speech, but she rewarded him with one of her smiles, the one that implied she knew a secret about him but wouldn't share it.

'I know, Sandor. I have held them off five years, another two or three shouldn't be difficult.' She sighed. 'Eventually though, I will needs find a match. I want children of my own, I want to be a mother. But I want it with the person of my choosing.'

Her eyes were piercing his as she spoke, boring so deep into his soul that he felt open and exposed, so much so that he was the first to look away. She sighed.

Sansa had never made a secret of the fact she desired him, not since their return to Winterfell. He'd heard of it before, young, inexperienced maids falling for the person that took them away from danger and misery, wrongfully idolising them as heroic rescuers. He had taken her from Littlefinger, but he was no Knight. He'd thought she'd grow out of it, but, he reasoned with himself, she hadn't exactly made huge efforts to socialise with others - eligible men - who might provide the distraction for her to cease her intrigue with him.

He wished she didn't make it so bloody obvious at times either. It was fucking hard for him to keep the proper distance a Master at Arms should keep, so fucking hard when she was right there and her thoughts so clearly written on her face. Over the years there had been many an opportunity that he could have had a song from her, the one she had promised all those years ago in Kings Landing. But she was so much more than a quick fuck. Her reputation was worth far more to him than he cared to admit and he was fucking terrified that once he'd had a taste of her, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from drowning entirely.

'Have I ever said thank you?' Her sudden words confused him, he did not follow her train of though.

'For what?'

She spread her arms out, indicating to the forest around them, twirling in a circle and pointing at the Castle, looking every inch the carefree young Princess she once could have been. 'All of this. You won it back for me. I know how difficult it was and not just the battles. Indeed for you I suppose the battles were the easiest part - you won them easily enough!'

'Aye, little bird, you've said thank you. If not with your words then with your actions. You spared me my life, you gave me somewhere to live, to eat, to work. You've given me a life. A purpose.'

She smiled a genuine smile, and even if her every expression hadn't been as easy as a children's book for him to read, the happiness and warmth she wore on her face would have been obvious to even a old, milky eyed maester. The flash of something different was not as easy to pick up. It was gone in seconds but Sandor had noticed - he always noticed - and the change put him on edge.

'Have you never desired a family of your own Sandor?'

This topic made him anxious. He wouldn't lie to her but nor did he want to reveal how in recent years he sometimes felt a hollow sort of sad emptiness when looking upon the children around the keep.

He had left too long a pause and she knew him too well for his words to matter now, she knew, if not the full truth, that his answer wasn't an outright no. 'Too old now.' Was all he offered instead.

She giggled and picked up her skirts, turning her back on Sandor and calling after him, 'I'll race you to the hot springs!'

Her head start and knowledge of Winterfell's woods and all its shortcuts coupled with his injured leg meant that by the time he arrived he was greeted with a pile of fabric next to the spring.

Through the steam rising from the water and into the fresh air he could make out the back of her head, her flaming hair loose, damp lengths clinging to the bare skin of her back.

Sandor reeled at the realisation she was naked in the spring. The water was crystal clear. If he moved closer he would see far more of her than he had ever dreamed to see. His footsteps stopped and he took a breath.

'Sansa.' The sound that came out was more growl than words.

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, and when she raise her lashes to fix him with that blue gaze he didn't think he had ever seen anything as seductive in his entire life.

She laughed. 'There is no need to look so scandalised Sandor! I thought I was the prude!' She laughed again, raising her arms to the ledge of the lagoon and tilted her head back, resting it there. 'Join me. I can't tell you how amazing the water feels. I come here not nearly as often as I should.'

If she laid back any further she would be floating. If she was floating he would see her entire body in all its glorious nakedness from his vantage point. He couldn't tell if his breath was held in the hope that she would lean just that tiny bit more or that she wouldn't.'

'Sansa.' His voice was sharp enough to cut steel, and she glanced at him again, curiously. 'I will return to Winterfell and fetch your maid. This is not...proper.'

She burst out laughing. 'Since when does Sandor Clegane care about what is proper! We are the only ones here. I wanted to enjoy the hot spring and I insist you enjoy it with me.'

He reached up to his cloak, his fingers swiftly releasing it from around his neck and he wondered if he had ever pulled clothing off as quickly before.

Holding the cloak wide, spread out in front of him, the way a mother holds a towel for her babe to wrap around it after a bath. The cloak blocked her from his line of sight, his breathing returning to normal.

'Sansa you will get out of that water and wrap this cloak around yourself. Once you are back inside the keep your maid can have a bath bought up to your rooms where you can bathe in privacy.'

Sandor couldn't remember a time he had been as worried for the little bird's safety. Back in Kings Landing he had always held some form of concern for her, whether Joffrey was in a good mood or not. At least then he could exert some control over how far Joffrey hurt her. Right here, there was no one to stop him and he knew exactly what he would do to her, should his control break and no doubt that had been her aim in this. The thought tore him apart. He could so easily have everything he had ever wanted, a few glorious moments of pleasure where he could claim her for himself and hold the illusion of a future with her, but in doing so he would take everything from her; her future, her reputation, her freedom to choose. She would be stuck with a fate so far from anything she deserved.

It was these thoughts that caused his voice to come out so rough and sharp. 'You ask me if I desire a family yet you take away the only chance I ever had of one. Kalsa no doubt has her own babes now.'

He was being unkind. He was being the Hound, but he did not know how else to end the temptation laid out in front of him and he did not trust himself a moment longer. He needed to leave, not just the woods, he needed to leave Winterfell, give Sansa a chance to meet others, Lords and Knights deserving of such a match.

Sandor heard the ripple of water as she hauled herself out of the hot spring. He could only imagine how she looked, naked in her Northern forest with steam evaporating from her skin, rivulets of water running down her body, droplets forming at the peaks of her tears and dripping to the ground. Fuck, he was hard.

He stood there with his arms outstretched, the cape between the two of them until her voice, quiet and vulnerable floated across the space between them.

'It's okay now Sandor, I am dressed.'

He lowered the cape and she stepped towards him. Her clothes were damp, in some places wet through and clinging to her body. Water droplets fell from her hair cascading down to the ground beneath her.

He held her gaze and could see the sorrow bursting from her blue eyes. He doubted she knew how to express it or explain her actions but some sort of calmness passed over him knowing that she did regret sending Kalsa away. He offered her what would have been a small smile on another man and reached around her to drape his cape over her shoulders, fastening it around her neck.

Their eyes were still locked. Out here in the Godswood, before the heart tree in the home of the Starks, with her eyes upon his the simple act of wrapping her in the cape felt...more.

His fingers quickly clasped the fastening and he took the opportunity to brush his thumb over her cheekbone, telling himself it would be the last time he would be able to do so.

To his surprise she was the one to break the spell they were under. She stepped back, away from his touch and shifted her gaze to the grass beneath her feet.

'You have served me well Sandor. Better than I have deserved at times. I cannot express how it pains me to realise how my spoilt, childish actions have impacted you. I am truly sorry. I have always held on to the hope that perhaps...one day you would mayhaps see me as more than just a scared girl.' Her eyes lifted to his, darting back and forth as she tried to read him. She smiled a sad smile. 'I had hoped for marriage. I see now I need to put that hope aside together with my stories that you despise so.'

He was taken aback not with her words, he couldn't comprehend those at the moment, but with her ability to so eloquently put her feelings across without even a trace of a blush on her cheeks.

'Come now, let us go back to the keep, I need to rinse the sulphur from my hair.' And with that she turned and made her way back through the wood to the castle with Sandor following behind, watching as his cape hung from her shoulders and dragged across the grass.


	5. Chapter 5

Sandor was out in the training ground. Winterfell was now home to vast number of well trained fighters, young and old, male and female, freefolk, common folk and household staff. Within in that were more than enough talented and competent swords men, archers and strategists to defend the castle against attack and meet others in battle.

Sandor trained the best hard, every day. Today had already seen the first round of training. Sandor had bested the young Graem Ardbei, although it had been a very closely fought match with Graem matching Sandor swing for swing and pulling off some defensive stances that left Sandor quietly impressed. In the end it had been down to Sandor's years of experience and sheer dogged determination that he had gotten the better of Graem.

Sandor's leg ached. It was stiff and cumbersome, the exertion of the fight causing it to tire and drag behind slightly as he walked from the training yard into the castle. He was 10 years older than he had been when he first arrived at Winterfell and he needed a longer break between the training sessions. Sandor ripped his tunic over his head, using the fabric to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He felt his age today and he wondered for how much longer he could keep his position with any kind of respect.

Respect, Sandor had found, had come to mean a lot to him. It wasn't until after he had lived here in Winterfell for the first few years that he truly known what respect was. In Kings Landing he had thought he'd known respect but now he saw it was only out of the fear of him that others done as he commanded. Living here with the Northern people had taught him the true meaning of respect and he was loathe to let anyone take that from him. Here he felt accepted. The people of the North knew of his past, of his life in Kings Landing and no doubt some still suspected he was the true culprit of the Saltpans atrocities but in the ten years he had resided in Winterfell and with his efforts to retake the castle before that, they had seen a fierce and dedicated fighter, a loyal advisor to their Lady and noted the time and skill he invested in to the restoration of the household guard. He'd never felt a place was his home but in Winterfell the acceptance and respect, the curious way no one paid a second look to his scars, he felt that one day perhaps he would feel this was home. It was certainly closer than the other places he had resided.

As Sandor rounded a corner on his route to his chambers he caught sight of Sansa with her half brother, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The Lord Commander appeared to be introducing Sansa to some Black Brothers, newly arrived at Winterfell. Sandor had heard news of their arrival and was looking forward to seeing their battle prowess, hoping they would take part in training with Winterfell's men. For most of the men of the castle it would be their first opportunity to spar with someone who did not reside in the castle.

Sansa glanced his way and offered a smile. Sandor had hoped she would invite him over to meet the Black Brothers but her attention quickly returned to her half brother and so he continued on to his rooms. He entered the room and went straight to the jug of water by the sink, to wash the sweat from his skin, as he always did after training. As he was about to loosen his breaches there was a knock on his door.

He didn't move, just called out that the door was unlocked. In the mirror above the basin he saw the wooden door swing inwards and reveal Sansa standing in the door frame. He was surprised, she was the last person he expected to visit him in his rooms.

He raised his one good eyebrow to her in the mirror. 'Are you going to come in, girl, or stand in the hallway?'

Sansa stepped inside his room, softly closing the door. She did not know where to look - she had seen Sandor shirtless many many times throughout the years, each time he took her breath away with his physique and strength, but here in his rooms it felt more intimate. She was close enough that she could make out the scars marring his back, the hair on his chest clear in the mirrors reflection. She swallowed and perched on the edge of his bed.

She didn't know how to begin. She did not know why she felt so strange about telling him. This was something they both had talked about many times, and still...it was difficult.

She took a breath, looking up at him to find he was watching her. Even with his tunic on she would have known he was tense but without it she could see it in how he was holding himself, in how his muscles were more defined as they contracted. He crossed his arms over his chest and leant back against the basin. His brow lowered. And still she watched him, his expression and his movements.

Eventually she realised she would just have to say it. She told herself that he wouldn't care, that it wouldn't change anything. But of course it would.

'I am to be married.'

His jaw was tight. She saw it twitch. He did not want to express the words, to make himself vulnerable and to jeopardise his role in Winterfell but he knew he had to, as much for himself as for her. He regretted many, many of the things he had done in his life, killing innocent people, children, not questioning the orders to do so, but he knew if he did not speak the words he knew to be true today he would not be able to live with the regret of not knowing.

 

Sandor did not speak for a long moment, instead scrutinising her face, trying to understand it. Her hands would not stay still - they smoothed the skirt of her dress, plucked at a stray thread on her sleeve, even picked at her nails. She was uncomfortable and he didn't know if it was they way he was looking at her or the news which she spoke of. 

 

He opened his mouth to demand who, but before the words were formed his damn squire flung the door open, entering without knocking and loudly chirping on about the men of the night's watch, until he clapped his eyes on Sansa still sat on the edge of Sandor's bed.

 

'My Lady, my apologies for interrupting. I did not know you were here.' The squires face was a comical mix of puzzlement and surprise. 

 

Sansa took the opportunity to rise and make her excuses to leave. She stopped at the doorway, turning back to look at Sandor. He knew she wanted to say more, but for the life of him he couldn't puzzle out what.

 

When Sansa departed the squire started straight where he had left off, informing Sandor that the black brothers were ready to fight.

 

* * * * * * 

The day had been long and Sandor felt physically exhausted. He'd fought more this week than he had the past month combined. Sandor had taken advantage of the Night's Watch visitors, even allowing them to lead two additional training sessions each day, while he joined Winterfell's men running through the drills they demonstrated. He fought with a new energy, the vigour of expelling the rage from his body. The rage he'd felt build up when he discovered who it was that Sansa was to wed. It was satisfying in a way he hadn't expected, to feel his muscles so worn out, and now he felt empty of rage, as if it had all poured out of him on the training field. 

 

Sandor sat on his favourite wooden chair in the corner of his rooms, sharpening his great sword on his whetstone. The time he had spent fighting and training this week had allowed him to clear his head and focus on nothing but the way his body moved, how his sword cut through the air and where he would strike on the body of his opponent. He had come to a conclusion of sorts. 

 

He knew his offer would have to be grand like something from her damnned story books. The offer she had from Tormund was sensible, it would unite the North like never before and provide a strong force against any changes on the Iron Throne in what was sure to be uncertain times now that the Dragon Queen had landed. Tormund was strong and fierce. He would defend her and protect her but he was a wildling. A wildling! Sansa was not born to marry a wildling. Duty would compel her to accept, he knew. What he could offer was much less, but so much more. All he had was himself; his protection, his sword and his love. Whatever Sansa decided, his sword and his heart would always belong to her.

The rhythmic stokes on his sword did nothing to ease his tension. He still did not know how he would tell her, nor what his gesture would be. No time to think on it now, he needed to collect her and escort her to the evening meal.

 

'And what do you think of my potential match, Sandor?'

 

They were outside her rooms, the large, dark oak door swung shut keeping them out of her rooms, but she did not yet want to leave, to join the crowds of people in the Great Hall, or even the few servants scurrying the corridors. And so she kept him here, squashed together in the sanctuary of the archway space between her door and the rest of the castle. 

 

She used to do this a lot, keep him close to her in this small space when she wanted to talk about something with just him, or she wasn't yet ready to pull on her Lady Sansa face and just wanted to be Sansa. He had come to think of it as their space.

 

'I did not retake this castle for you to see you married off to some fucking wildling.'

 

Her smile was amused, her gaze playful and light as her head tilted slightly to the left as she looked up at him. 'No?'

 

His eyes were startlingly fierce in contrast. 'No.'

 

She seemed taken aback, as if she had no words for him. She swallowed and he watched the pulse at the base of her neck thrum. Her next words were quiet, almost a whisper, 'what would you have me do?'

 

He snorted. This was his opportunity, but he was unprepared. 'I'd have you do nothing. You have freedom and the ability to make decisions for yourself. Do not feel bound by duty. You have provided the North with so much already do not think that you need to make this sacrifice, if you do see it as a sacrifice. Whichever you choose I will be here. I will always be here.'

 

Now was his time to tell her, to offer himself to her as more than her protector. She was watching him with a curious expression playing across her face as he fought to find the words that were flowery and worthy of her, rather than his usual harsh roughness.

 

He grappled for too long. He registered footsteps approaching but he thought nothing of them until that smug wildling prick entered his field of vision. Sandor raged internally as the wildling's hand briefly rested on Sansa's hip, invading not only her personal space, but this space that was theirs.

 

'Lady Sansa.'

 

'Tormund,' Sansa greeted after a beat, composing herself as Lady Sansa. She shifted, imperceptibly to place herself so she was facing both Tormund and Sandor. The movement put her out of reach of Tormund and she didn't want to think on why she felt it important that Sandor not observe such gestures.

 

Tormund nodded at Sandor and offered his arm to Sansa. 'I'm here to deliver you safely to your hall.' He leaned in towards Sansa, his forehead almost touching hers as he stage whispered 'Seems your brother thinks I need to act more like your southern Ser's to impress you, but I told him, my giant cock is more than enough to charm any lady.'

 

Sansa could feel the rage rolling off Sandor and so quickly took Tormund's arm, laughing a genuine laugh as she led him down the corridor, away from Sandor, to the main hall.

 

Sandor could hear as Sansa's laughter echoed down the corridor like Sevenmas bells and she told Tormund that Ser's were not impressive at all.

 

* * * * * *

 

She pulled a face. 'I shall be Sansa Giantsbane...Lady Giantsbane.' She bit her lip to hide her laughter, expecting that Sandor would tease her for her new name. 'I hope he won't take offence but I am proposing that he takes my name and we shall both be Starks.' She sat down in the wooden chair by the fire and looked at Sandor, properly looked at Sandor, for the first time since the day in the woods, where she had made a fool of herself.

 

She felt the warmth of the fire on her side. She was relaxed, content even, in the uncomfortable wooden chair in his rooms. When she her eyes danced across his face she was taken aback by how he looked. There was a ferocity to him, to his eyes, that were intensely watching her, their own fire burning inside. But they were also soft, scrutinising her every breath. She lost herself in his eyes, those grey pits so familiar to her, burning into the core of her very soul. Something about them was different tonight. She couldn't put her finger on it but she knew there was something, something that would change everything. Her heart pumped faster trying to break through her chest, as she fell further into his gaze. She felt consumed by him, he was all there was in her world right now. Just Sandor and the way he was looking at her, looking into her, as if he in turn was being consumed by her.

 

'You could be Sansa Clegane.' His voice was rougher than ever, the scraping of steel over stone. She could practically feel it rumble and vibrate through her body.

 

She swallowed.

 

Silence.

 

He made himself continue.

 

'I have given you my cloak three times and now I want yours.' His words were slow, thick, deliberate. She didn't think his voice had ever sounded more gentle nor more vulnerable, the rawness betraying his feelings.

 

She sucked in a small breath, still drowning in his eyes. 'Yes.'

 

She stood, without consciously knowing what she was doing and walked to him, her need to be closer to him the only thing of which she was aware.

 

'Yes.' She whispered again, louder.

 

She was mere inches from him when she stopped. She still couldn't tear her eyes from his. The delicious feeling of sinking inside him was too much for her to part with. Her fingers raised to his ruined cheek, the tips tracing over the smooth skin. 'Tonight. We shall wed tonight. Before the heart tree. I shan't waste another day without you.'

 

All he could do was nod, and place his large calloused hand over hers. 

 

Impossibly, she came closer still, sitting in his lap, her hands anchored to his cheeks. Sandor was still watching her face as she drew hers closer to his, her eyes only breaking away from his as they closed and he felt her lips against his own. His fingers traced patterns over the skin of her neck, her collar bone, her arms and he felt her skin change to goose flesh. 

 

In every way this kiss was the exact opposite of what he had always thought his first kiss with her would be. He'd imagined fast, hard, bordering on rough, but this was so slow and tender and so sweet it broke him. Her lips ghosted against his, so soft and delicate. She sighed causing him to groan and move his hands to her hips, grinding her against his hardness. She smiled against his lips, her forehead resting against his as her nose pressed into his cheek. 'Marry me first.'

 

Their wedding was not the large, opulent affair she had always imagined. She had no time to bead nor embroider her cloak, prepare a feast or even clean her hair. With Sandor wrapping his cloak around her and making his vows to her in front of the heart tree with just her half brother, maid and maester as witnesses she could notice nothing other than the warmth of his hands and the intensity of his words. She would not have noticed if half the kingdom stood in her Godswood witnessing her union with Sandor, all she could see was him.

Afterwards, as she stood in the wood draped in his cloak and holding his hand she felt fierce. He made her feel fierce. He made her feel Northern and wild and brave. He gave her his strength. He made her feel alive, like nothing she had ever experienced before. She felt she could take on all of the Seven Kingdoms, just her and Sandor. They could conquer the world, hand in hand, for all they needed to survive was each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this and commented, it means a lot to me!


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